


It's not easy...not being a duckling anymore

by thefrogg



Series: First We Take Manhattan [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, M/M, Withdrawal Symptoms, accidental and entirely unintentional addiction, discussion of questionable non-sexual consent, severe skin hunger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 19:10:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10556218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefrogg/pseuds/thefrogg
Summary: There are consequences.  It's not all cute and fluffy after the cute and fluffy is over.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The post-duckling bits I never managed to connect with.

Clint swallowed, trying to settle as if on a mission. It didn’t work; his skin crawled, the hair on the back of neck raising again, again, the urge to roll his shoulders, twist his spine almost impossible to suppress in time to keep from giving himself away.

It was only the noise from the rec room big screen that kept him safe from Thor, watching the tail end of some disaster of a monster movie in the dim half-light of mid afternoon.

Clint waited. Waited until the credits rolled, until Thor turned the television off with a too-large finger; the sound muted in the split second before the screen went black, and then the remote fell to the table with a careless clatter.

Until Thor’s legs carried him out of the room, and Clint could slither out of the vents to curl up in the warm spot left behind.

It wasn’t enough. Not anymore, not ever, but it would have to do.

~~~

Thor hummed the opening stanza to his favorite drinking song on the way back to the rec room; two bottles of beer twitched back and forth to the beat.

The bowl of popcorn in his other hand was spared the indignity.

Melody and entertainment fled Thor’s mind at the sight of Clint curled up on the couch, asleep.

It didn’t escape him that Clint had taken his seat, curled himself in as close an imitation of his previous duckling form as he could, feet tucked on the couch cushion.

Thor smiled sadly, watching Clint as he breathed, head lolling to one side. It’d been far too long since the magic had worn off, had returned Clint to his human form, since Thor had seen him, and it said something - a distressing something - to know that he’d fallen asleep so quickly, even in the safety of their home, in such an uncomfortable position.

The bottles and bowl settled quietly next to the remote; Thor eased himself to the couch next to his friend, leaving some small space between them.

~~~

The sensation of being watched didn’t wake Clint, though it seeped into his subconscious mind; the trespasser was not a threat, and remained unthreatening in its approach. 

Even the hands, broad, strong, easing him sideways, slipping a pillow beneath his head, his torso across muscled thighs, didn’t do much to drag him from the depths of sleep.

A spot of warmth settled on his hip; another swept from the nape of his neck, over shoulders and down his spine, the pleasure of it making him want to arch and purr under the attention. He sighed and pushed his cheek deeper into the pillow, let the buzz sweep him under.

This was what he’d been missing, the absence of it like a raw wound; the vents were almost, almost enough to pretend, but–

Deep voice murmured over his head, soft, careful; a woman answered (Natasha, his subconscious whispered), and his legs were moved, re-settled, gun-callused hands stroking his feet, fingers slipping up his calves under the cuffs of his jeans.

The pleasure became almost painful, a rush so strong even the safety of the Tower, the protection of his friends, his own exhaustion couldn’t keep him asleep, and he stiffened, realizing where he was and what was happening–

–what they were doing to him–

Hands clamped down on him before he could roll off their laps, Thor’s at the back of his neck and one hip, Natasha’s on his ankles.

“Be still.”

“Tash–” Clint had to stop and swallow, work his mouth for the lack of moisture. He hadn’t said a word in too long–

“Don’t. This is our fault. We took advantage.” She let go with one hand, running careful fingers over the arch of his foot, touch too firm to tickle. "We did not think of what it might do to you once the magic was gone. Not until you disappeared.“

"I don’t–I’m not–”

“You would truly have us leave you to suffer?” Thor squeezed his hip, not quite hard enough to bruise. "You do so needlessly, when we would offer you what comfort you need. When we would take comfort in having that offer accepted.“

Clint wanted to cry, felt his throat close on a sob. "Guys–” The hold on the back of his neck shifted, and he struggled a little as Thor lifted him partly upright, enough to look him square in the eyes.

“The fault is ours, shieldbrother, the shame that we have left you alone to suffer such isolation. There is no shame in needing the touch of another. It is but a reminder that you – that we,” Thor corrected himself pointedly, stressing the word, “are not alone in this world. All we have is each other, and you would deny us this? Deny yourself what we so freely offer?”

This was too much; Clint just breathed, air rasping harshly down his throat. The hand that left his ankle left a fading brand of heat behind, and made him flinch and shut his eyes on a moan caught and suppressed too late as it slipped further up his calf. "I don’t–don’t.“

"Don’t what?” Natasha made the question gentle, insistent.

“Don’t tell Phil,” Clint said, begged, chin sinking to his chest in defeat.

“Clint.”

He shuddered at the sound of his own name, hands twitching, aching for something to lever himself off the couch, away from them.

“Phil already blames himself for leaving you behind. Do you really think he would think less of you for this? For taking care of yourself?”

Thor’s fingers dug into the side of his neck as he turned to stare at her. "Wasn’t his fault–“

"And this isn’t yours,” Natasha said, pouncing. "It’s not your fault. Let us help you.“

It hurt too much to argue; Clint let out a small whine of protest and nodded, eyes closing in misery as Thor eased him back down across his lap. The hands sweeping down his back, over his ankles and feet were all too familiar, let him sink back into a time when life was so much simpler (eat, sleep, swim, be petted, run after Phil).

If he couldn’t stop the tremors, the clutch of his hands on couch cushion, on Thor’s leg, couldn’t stop the tears from dampening the pillow…

They were team. They’d never tell.


End file.
